The Measure of Happiness
by time4moxie
Summary: One of Jim Halpert's greatest assets are those adorable cheeks, and Pam Beesly has a PhD in cheekology....


It was the first thing she noticed about him when he walked back through that door. He'd lost weight. Not that it would immediately obvious to most people, as he was bundled up in his old blue wool coat, and under that his expensive new suit jacket. But Pam didn't have to look at his body to see the difference. She could see it in his face. She could see it in his cheeks. When he'd left they were plumper and fuller and when he'd smile - really smile - there would almost be a hint of a dimple in the midst of their roundness. She often thought he had exactly the kind of cheeks that old women liked to pinch, and sometimes imagined what his reaction might be if she ever did such a thing. He'd probably look at her with resigned acceptance mingled with just a hint of amusement; the same look he often gave her when he let her get away with silly things. 

But now his cheeks where slimmer, almost gaunt, and where his rounder cheeks made him look so boyish, he now looked almost mature beyond his years. Older, maybe even wiser. His new default facial expression when he looked at her seemed to be calm, not lively like before. He was still handsome, yes. Of course. But different. He didn't smile as much, so these new cheeks never had to work very hard at all. Pam soon discovered that he hardly ever laughed, at least not the way she remembered. Last year his cheeks always caught her attention, because he smiled and grinned and laughed at a moment's notice. Maybe that's why they had been fuller - he'd given them plenty of exercise. But now? Well, they were just different. Nearly unrecognizable. 

Pam had missed Jim terribly while he'd been away. Now that he was back, she was still missing him. She missed his expressiveness. She missed the adorable roundness of those cheeks.

It was the first thing his mother had said to him the weekend he moved back to Scranton.

"My God, Jim - how much weight have you lost living in Stamford? Don't you bother to eat?"

"I eat," he'd muttered. "I just got a bit more active down there. I was biking into work and back. It's not like I didn't need to lose a few pounds."

"Since when?" his mother scoffed. "You've always been about five pounds underweight. Now you look practically starved. You look so gaunt in the face, too. Where are those beautiful, kissable cheeks?"

He brushed off his mother's words, but Jim knew he'd lost a little more weight than perhaps he needed to while he was away. Truth was, most of the time he just didn't have a good appetite. Moving to Stamford had been stressful, and even after he'd started to feel settled in, his old habits just never resurfaced. The most telling one of all was his former habit of snacking all day at work.

When he worked at Scranton he was forever raiding the vending machines. Not because he was continuously hungry, but because it was a way to spend time with iher/i. They had this unspoken agreement where they staggered their break times, and when she was on break he'd wander in to get some chips or a soda, and waste about five minutes just talking. Then on his break he'd grab another snack and wait for her to find some reason to need to stop by and talk to him. Then there were the actual lunch breaks, the impromptu gatherings in the kitchen, and the times he would go buy a Snickers as an excuse to surprise her with a bag of Sun Chips just to watch her smile. When he added all those food moments up , it was lucky he had never actually gained weight at Scranton. Once he got to Stamford, the vending machine breaks became few and far between, and it started to show on him physically.

His decision to come back to Scranton had also taken its toll on his appetite. So he knew when he walked through that door his first day back, that he looked a bit tired and beaten. He felt it even more when he saw her - saw how vibrant and beautiful she looked. How somehow she looked even more beautiful then he'd remembered, and how her rosy cheeks and glossy hair just knocked the wind out of him, even before she overwhelmed him with her exuberant hug. He felt like black and white compared to her color wheel. He wondered if he'd ever be that full of life again, if his cheeks would ever burn as red and lively as hers did. He knew they used to.

March arrived, and so much had happened in the five months since Jim had returned. For a start, nearly all of the Stamford people had gone for various reasons, most of whose departures were a direct result of the bumbling of Michael Scott. Secondly, Jim's romantic relationship with Karen had ended. While it had been a rather unfortunately situation, Pam thought guiltily that she had only benefitted from it. Jim was suddenly friendlier, more open to just sitting and talking. They played more pranks, sent each other funny emails, and gradually slipped back into stumbling into each other's break time to share a story or idea. One day Jim surprised her by leaving a bag of french onion Sun Chips on her desk after she'd been stuck in Michael's office for nearly two hours. She felt their friendship getting stronger every day, and knew one day soon her growing confidence would allow her to tell him all the things that were really on her mind.

It was a Friday afternoon when Pam was sitting in the break room drinking some tea, and Jim walked in and bought a bag of chips. Without a word he sat down in the chair next to her and opened them. He tilted the bag in her direction and she took a few. They smiled at each other and maintained their comfortable silence. Pam couldn't help but gaze at his face, something striking her as different about him. It took a moment for her to realize what it was, but when she did she smiled slightly and drank a little more of her tea.

"What?" Jim asked.

"What?" she repeated back to him.

"What was that smile about?"

She blushed slightly, shaking her head. "It was nothing."

"Oh, come on, Beesly," he teased. "I know you better than that. Spit it out."

"I, well... I just noticed that your cheeks are filling out again."

He tilted his head slightly. "What??"

"Honestly," she laughed, "is that the only word you know?"

"No," he grinned, "but I don't understand what you just said."

She brought her hand up to her own face. "Your cheeks. When you came back from Stamford they were, well, thinner. You were thinner. You looked a bit gaunt, actually." She looked back down at the table, as if she was embarrassed.

"My mother said pretty much the same thing," Jim mused. "So are you saying I don't look so bad anymore?"

"Well, I didn't mean to sound like you looked bad before. You just looked different."

"Funny how nobody said anything to me about looking different." he commented, watching her carefully. "And I can understand my mother noticing. What's your excuse?"

His tone was more inviting than accusing, and she couldn't resist a smile. "Well, if you must know the truth, I had been working on a secret scientific project right before you left. It got pushed on the back burner for a while, but when you returned I immediately saw the need to get back to work on it."

"I see. And what sort of 'scientific project' was it?"

"Well, I like to call it the cheek-o-meter." 

"The cheek-o-meter?" Jim couldn't resist grinning. "I admit, I'm intrigued. What does it do?"

Pam finished the rest of her tea. "Well, it's my theory that you can tell the level of a person's happiness by their cheeks."

"And what do my cheeks tell you?" They were both fighting hard not to be the first to laugh, and Jim thought this was the best conversation he'd had in ages.

Pam looked down at her hands. Her fingers twisting together was a sure indication to Jim that she was feeling nervous. He moved his chair slightly closer, very interested to hear her answer. When she looked back up at him, her smile had faded and she seemed almost sad.

"That you haven't been as happy as you deserve to be."

Jim leaned back in his chair. It wasn't the light, playful answer he had been expecting. But it was close to the truth. A little too close. "Really," he finally said. They were silent again for a few moments, then Jim spoke again. "But you said they're filling out again."

She nodded. "They are."

He leaned forward again. "And what does that mean?"

"I'm hoping it means you're glad to be back."

"Hoping?" He started to smile again. "That doesn't sound very scientific."

"Well, the cheek-o-meter is still a work in process, but I feel pretty confident in its conclusions."

He looked down at her hands, watching them restlessly play with her empty mug. Without pausing to think, he reached out and put his hand over her two smaller ones. Her hands stilled instantly, and she moved one hand on top of his, now tightly holding his one hand between her two.

"Are you glad that I'm back?" He asked quietly.

Her head bowed, all she did at first was nod. 

"Oh God, I've missed those cheeks," she admitted. She glanced up at him, and the expression on his face immediately dissolved her fear. She reached over and finally allowed herself the pleasure of running her fingers along his jaw, her palm resting against his cheek. His once more soft and rounded cheek. Her Jim. 


End file.
